


like a pair of hands held out

by rory_the_dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Rickon POV, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wouldn't think it to look at him; taller than Rickon, sure, but with lingering baby-fat in his cheeks and the gentlest blue eyes Rickon has ever seen, Tommen Baratheon doesn't exactly cut an intimidating figure. But Rickon's seen him raging, seen him needy, seen him passionate, seen him everything and he's not sure he's ever met anyone who feels as much as Tommen does.</p>
<p>He looks up. "You came."</p>
<p>(Or: The modern au oneshot that got out of hand and became way too intense for banging in a football changing room)</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a pair of hands held out

 

"Yeah, fuck you too, Frey," Rickon laughs, throwing one of the most muddied and sweat-dampened neon vests across the changing room at Little Walder, the curse and missile a sure fire way to defend his honour amongst teenage boys, and sure enough the vest claps Walder around the face to the sounds of teenage jeering and hooting, drowning out the memory of Walder's jabs about Rickon's near-missed penalty. "Wasn't me who let two goals in."

"Fuck off, Stark," Little Walder mumbles, suitably shame-faced and, honour restored, Rickon moves to clap him on the shoulder.

"Aye, you kept out five, though?" He says, in his best impression of Robb, because it may be a high school football team but it's a captaincy Rickon takes seriously, one of the few things he can call his own as the youngest Stark son.

Walder chances a smile at him, and Rickon shoves him away, grinning again. "You did well, lads, but it won't be a friendly next time and I need your game upped. Which is why tomorrow's practise starts at six am, sharp." His announcement is met with groans and assorted cursing, but he shouts it all down. "Yes, six am, and anyone late is running laps. Now fuck off all of you!" It's barely ten am on a Saturday and he wants to shower and to crawl back home to bed. Much as loves his football and spending time with his team, the prospect of even another five minutes with them in the cold changing rooms, amongst the strong scent of mud and stale sweat, isn't appealing right now.

Even so, he can't wash the grin from his face, hadn't been able to even when he was putting Little Walder in his place. There's scarcely anything like this feeling in the world, victory buzzing through his veins, his calves beginning to ache sweetly with strain and his knees stinging with abuse. His hair is sticking to him, russet curls slicked back with sweat and mud, and he can feel it drying across his skin, his chin, his forearms, his legs. He's a mess, yes, but tell Rickon Stark two years ago that his body would be aching with anything other than picking fights in the wrong back-alleys, and he wouldn't have even have laughed at you before snarling and swinging for a punch.

Rickon hadn't expected football to be the escape he needed from everything, but with his orange captain's band on his arm he feels nigh on invincible.

He's barely alone for two minutes, the quiet in the absence of the lads ringing as he unlaces his studs and yanks off his shin pads, before he hears the heavy door slam open and shut.

He doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.

He doesn't know what it is about Tommen that changes the atmosphere of any room he walks into - maybe it's just Rickon being sentimental - but Rickon has always thought that Tommen's destined for more than what his piss-poor excuse for a family have given him, and the universe has to agree with him because Tommen's presence crackles.

You wouldn't think it to look at him; taller than Rickon, sure, but with lingering baby-fat in his cheeks and the gentlest blue eyes Rickon has ever seen, Tommen Baratheon doesn't exactly cut an intimidating figure. But Rickon's seen him raging, seen him needy, seen him passionate, seen him _everything_ and he's not sure he's ever met anyone who _feels_ as much as Tommen does.

He looks up. "You came."

Firmly closing the door behind him, Tommen looks at him softly, as if hearing the slight tinge of surprise colouring his voice. Barely anyone excepting his mother looks at Rickon that softly anymore, and even she with an edge of sadness, seeing his father more than him.

When Tommen looks at him like that, Rickon feels like he's on a ship in a storm, unsteady and off-kilter. He feels different around Tommen, and Rickon's been a thousand different people since he was seven years old but it's only with Tommen that he gets the feeling that he's found the centre of himself once again.

He wonders, sometimes, if Tommen feels the same way, if Rickon's more than just a port in a storm from the terrifying press of Tommen's family, but he'll never ask.

"I told you I would," Tommen reminds him, as if Rickon could forget that promise he extracted from Tommen last night, pressing insistent kisses across his collar bone, up his neck and then down, down, _down,_ close to begging. And it had been a promise given easily, Tommen knowing that there had to be a reason Rickon was finally inviting him to see one of his matches, but in the early morning light it could have been easily brushed away, and when Rickon has jogged out to see Tommen huddled at the top of the stands in a hoodie that was _definitely_ Rickon's with Shaggydog at his feet, he hadn't realised how much he'd been expecting it to be.

He can't stop his grin all over again, and it echoes on Tommen's face, lighting it up as he crosses the room to him.

"Fuck, you were amazing, Rickon," Tommen gushes, and Rickon feels his heart sing in his chest. He's moving before realises it, catching Tommen's approach, and they crash together, Tommen ducking in and Rickon pushing up, and when he finds Tommen's mouth, he's anything but gentle, can't be in this second.

It's tongue and teeth, biting, and Rickon's shaking hands are at Tommen's waist, holding on, as he pushes all of his excess adrenaline into Tommen and Tommen takes it, gives Rickon his own until they're crackling together this time and no, there's nothing like the feeling football races through Rickon's body, but even that is nothing to how Tommen tears through him, takes all of him in an explosion and makes it something sweeter in the afterglow.

Tommen bites at his lower lip, tugging on it slowly before soothing it, and just like that the kiss becomes softer, quieter, both of them finding and rediscovering each other all over again in a dingy high school changing room.

"God, do you know what you looked like out there?" Tommen whispers, smudging breath across Rickon's cheek.

"Sexy as fuck?" Rickon chances, grinning impishly, and Tommen swats at him, but he's also walking Rickon back to the bench, sitting him down and climbing atop him so he much not mind too much.

" _Strong_ ," Tommen tells him, hands at Rickon's shoulders. "You looked powerful and wonderful and I was so proud to call you _mine_." He bites the last word into Rickon's ear before turning his attentions to Rickon's neck, sucking a possessive mark at the join of shoulder and neck.

Rickon's head tips back. Out of everything, in the beginning, he had least expected Tommen's possessiveness to rival his own in ferocity, though he supposed he shouldn't really have been surprised. Rickon lost everything and clawed it all back piece by piece, but Tommen never had anything to call his own in the first place.

"And I suppose you did look sexy, barking orders like that, _Captain_." Tommen all but _purrs_ the title, as if he's part cat himself from the amount he rescues and loves, and Rickon growls, taking Tommen's face in his hands and pulling him back up.

But there's a second before he kisses him, hitched high on Rickon's lap and hips pressed flush against his, where Rickon meets Tommen's eyes, blue to scorching blue, and what passes between them cannot be said in words.

_This is it, this is the last part of me I have and it's yours, just as everything else_

_Thank you, for showing me, for giving me this, you, for loving me enough._

As quick as it was there, it passes, a storm in a blink of an eye, and they'll never stop being two broken boys reaching for each other in the dark, but it slides away behind teenage need for a while.

"You suppose?" Rickon challenges, asking it into Tommen's mouth, who makes a pleased him at the vibrations it causes before humming his own response.

"Well you _are_ rather muddy." Tommen laughs as Rickon squeezes his arse in retaliation before the contact brings him a whole lot closer to the hardness in Rickon's loose football shorts and everything stop being funny. His eyes widen and he pulls back to look at Rickon. "Here?"

Rickon shrugs, trying to pass off just how much he wants this, Tommen, here and now, doesn't want to wait, but he's never been anything but an open book to Tommen since day one. Tommen nods a little, more in understanding than acquiescence, but there's a gleam in his eyes that make him look distinctly feline, the cat with the cream.

The thing is, Tommen's always had a little bit of an exhibitionist streak. Well, not so much _exhibition_ , Tommen grew up paraded and posed in front of too many people to count that he still hates it, but the idea of getting caught, of being seen as something other that the perfect second son, is pretty much what started this whole affair between them - unless you also count Rickon's own burning need to fuck up and ruin everything he could get his hands on, mutual furious attraction, and close-quarters from school and social parties that led them being unable to escape each other.

It grew, of course, became more; Tommen on Rickon's doorstep because he didn't know where else to go, thousands of texts sent that crossed the line of passing the time with each other to actually wanting to know what the other thought about this or that, stolen moments in alcoves at parties became less about chasing an orgasm and instead soft kisses pressed in the dark. Tommen had coaxed Rickon into meeting with Osha, getting help, and Rickon had found a stray black kitten on the side of the road and rescued it for Tommen. And now it's nearly a year on, still secret, still theirs, and Rickon's just handed over the last piece of himself to Tommen.

"Scared, Baratheon?" He challenges, and there's the slightest flicker across Tommen's face, dark, before it's gone in the quirk of an eyebrow.

"I'd've had you on the bloody field, Stark," And he pushes down to shut Rickon firmly up.

Kissing Tommen will always be the best thing Rickon has ever experienced. It's not just that Tommen is painfully talented with his mouth, because he hadn't been so much when they first started fooling around. Just touching Tommen makes Rickon's pulse race, like he needs to run, like Shaggydog, and pull Tommen along with him, howling. But it's more than that. Kissing Tommen like this, holding him right against his body like he couldn't let go for anything, makes Rickon feel _good_ again, like he hasn't since he was seven years old and woke up _knowing_ his father was dead.

If Rickon's life has been hard, Tommen's has been just as, in different ways, sure, but holding Tommen like this makes Rickon feel like nothing can hurt them again, he won't let it, never again. And it's not a promise he can keep, unless he follows through on Arya's quiet promises to murder every last Lannister there is, but he can pretend it's true, holding onto Tommen.

He snaps out of his head and gets with the programme quick enough when Tommen starts tugging at his shirt, pristine fingers caking in mud, and Rickon might have gotten a lot better but he still gets a perverse kind of joy out of mussing Tommem up, getting his cheeks flushed and his hair rumpled. He surges up, rolling his hips, and Tommen makes a small whimper into his mouth, finally peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside.

It's cold in the changing rooms, even pressed this close to Tommen, and Rickon feels gooseflesh spread across his arms. His nipples pebble, but Tommen dips and laves one with his tongue, nibbling slightly before sucking another bruise into him.

Rickon's so caught up in the sensations of Tommen's mouth that he doesn't realise what Tommen's fingers are doing before there's a light _snap_ on his arm and he pulls back, panting.

What little breath he has vanishes at the sight of his captain's band high on his arm, Tommen's muddied fingertips running across it purposefully.

" _Captain_ ," Tommen says, placing a kiss just above the band, and he looks up at Rickon through eyelashes that are so blonde as to be invisible.

And this is why Rickon finally invited him here today, after nearly six months of him captaining the team. Tommen gets it, Tommen always gets it, gets how important it is to Rickon, to have responsibilities again rather than just running wild, to have a team under him and depending on him. Tommen gets it, knows just what to say.

Overcome, Rickon lifts Tommen by his knees, shorter than the other boy but stockier, and he lifts him with ease. Usually Tommen laughs when Rickon picks him up and carries him around, calls him a brute and pushes at him, making half-hearted attempts at escape, but now he's silent, eyes locked with Rickon's and hanging on. He presses in and kisses him, once, twice, burning and slow, before resting his forehead against Rickon's and breathing him in as Rickon lays them out on the floor, neither of them caring for mud or abandoned football boots as he leans down and takes Tommen's mouth.

Not since the first time they slept together - not just fucked, honestly and truly gave over to each other - has Rickon felt quite like this, like a wire pulled taut and about to snap. Tommen's legs kick up and over his hips, heels pushing at the small of his back, and Rickon goes, groaning, helpless. He feels like a storm waiting to happen to Tommen, everything nameless he's feeling stirring up inside him, but he holds himself back, running a series of featherlight kisses at Tommen's neck, stopping to sip kisses that last no longer than a breath from his mouth because he knows Tommen can't _stand_ teasing, even if that's not quite what this is.

It feels closer to reverence.

Osha has said so many times in their sessions that he needs to find something to anchor himself, trust in something other than himself for once, and her fingers had closed around the necklace she wears, a depiction of an ancient god that had been part of the reason Rickon had agreed to see her in the first place - her faith, strange as it was, had reminded him of his father's.

Rickon isn't quite sure what he believes in, even if he still joins his mother for Mass and holds her shaking hands, but he knows he believes in Tommen, for what that's worth.

" _Rickon_ ," Tommen whines, high in his throat, and it's close to begging, if Tommen ever did that.

Rickon smiles, toothy. His name in Tommen's mouth is like a song, a call back home.

He gets the other boy's shirt off, balling it up and tucking it beneath the crown of Tommen's head, for all the good it'll do. Tommen is so fucking sensitive during sex - touch starved after years of cool detachment from his family, which Rickon has never been able to understand; his family might be fucked up six ways from Sunday but they've always loved each other and loved each other physically, even Sansa - and he can never stay still when Rickon has his hands on him. It's heady, having that effect on someone.

Palms flat on Tommen's chest, the steady strum of his heartbeat sure under his hands, Rickon's struck with a moment of absolute contentment. He can still feel the need of arousal coiling in his stomach, but it's all but buried under this moment as he sits astride Tommen's hips, gazing down at his boyfriend. Because Tommen is so obviously affected. The skin beneath Rickon's hands is flushed, a pinkness that never shows on his cheeks, his chest rising and falling and his eyes slightly glazed, even at so little, and it's all for Rickon, it's _his_.

The wine-red blush of Tommen's bitten down bottom lip is Rickon's. The hitching of his hips is Rickon's. The faint trail of downy blonde hair disappearing into his jeans, it's all Rickon’s.

No one else in the world gets this, gets Tommen, not like Rickon does.

"Gods, I was so scared," He's saying before he even realises, hands moving to finger at the button on Tommen's jeans. "Scared you wouldn't come, terrified you would, I-" He loses his words to Tommen's mouth as Tommen sits up and cups his face, kisses him sweet enough to hurt.

"I was too." Tommen's knuckles, so different from Rickon's with his home-done tattoos and thrice-broken fingers, skate down his ribs and catch where his hands have stilled on his zipper. "And not just because it was seven am and freaking freezing outside."

Rickon barks a laugh. "Dick!" He shoves Tommen's chest and Tommen goes back to the floor, laughing. Rickon follows him down, bites at his ear as he finally gets the zipper on Tommen's jeans down.

They divest each other in close to seconds, a machinery of familiar parts, learned in dark, secret corners, Tommen lifting his hips to allow Rickon to slide his jeans down, as his fingers slipping into the waistband of Rickon's shorts, pushing them down to mid-thigh.

Rickon's not even wearing underwear, barely any of the team do when playing, and he yelps when Tommen's slender fingers dig into the flesh of his arse, almost bruising, and grind him hot and fast against where Tommen's just as hard in his black boxers.

"No." Tommen says in answer to Rickon's unasked question. "You're not going anywhere to get anything." It's an order, not a request, and his thumb dips into the slick slit of Rickon's dick, appropriately quelling any argument Rickon might have had in a loud groan that echoes around the changing room.

Rickon can feel his grin presses into the side of his neck and, no, he's not having that.

In retaliation, he bites at the skin of Tommen's chest, tugging it between his teeth, and grins around it as he feels Tommen's hand around him tighten on a gasp before falling lax. He doesn't have to look up to know that Tommen's eyes are blown to blackness. As much as Tommen enjoys sucking marks of possession into Rickon's flesh, visible reminders of his presence all over, any time Rickon displays his own need to claim Tommen, Tommen reacts like nothing Rickon's ever seen, becoming pliant and needy beneath Rickon's hands.

If Tommen has a possessive streak, Rickon has nothing but. Bruises and bitemarks wherever he can lay them, hands sliding under clothing and pulling Tommen to him, pressing him against walls and promising _Mine_ in his ear. It's a need more than it has ever been anything else; Rickon is clinging to the remains of his scattered life with his fingertips, Tommen is the only thing he can grasp with two hands.

With his teeth, Rickon creates a symphony of gasps and whimpers, shudders and moans, as he bites down Tommen's body until he's breathing hotly against where Tommen's hard in his boxers.

"Y-You bite me now and I'll _ah-_ never sleep with you again," Tommen warns shakily, affected behind belief but tongue still sharp, and Rickon laughs as he nuzzles in against Tommen.

"Don't you trust me?"

Tommen's whisper rises through his groan. " _A-Always_ ," He says, voice catching but sure, and Rickon's grin dies on his face when he looks up.

Tommen is fucking beautiful and it's all due to the tender look in his eyes as he looks at Rickon, even on a dingy changing room floor, surrounded by mud, football studs, and forgotten articles of clothing. It's a look of love and it's all Rickon can do to try and be deserving of it.

He doesn't answer Tommen. Instead he frantically tugs at Tommen's boxers and ducks his head.

Tommen's shout echoes off the walls. If they were in bed, tucked away in Rickon's attic bedroom where no one but Sansa knew they were, he'd take his time, draw it out until Tommen's cursing and begging, savour the feeling of having Tommen like this. But he's not altogether sure whether Tommen locked the changing room door behind him, and even if all Rickon's mind is chanting at him is _TommenTommenTommen_ there's a small part of him aware that at some point another team _will_ turn up. And that'd be the end of that.

Tommen's not ready for people to know about them yet - to be honest neither is Rickon - and Tommen coming to his game was risk enough. So instead he sets about making Tommen feel as lit up as he felt earlier, knowing Tommen's eyes were only on him.

He'd felt them, from the field, had known really that Tommen was there from the moment Shaggydog ran out of the changing rooms - Tommen is plainly Shaggy's favourite, which is a bit rich considering Rickon, y'know, _feeds_ him - but it was nothing compared to the way the breath knocked out of him to see blonde hair in the early morning mist, to hear a familiar voice cheering his name.

" _Ri-_ " This time his name is bitten off as he hums in happy rememberence around Tommen, and hands yank at his hair, pulling a growl from his throat. Tommen doesn't often get rough but Rickon treasures every time. As well as being hot as fuck, it's a reminder that he won't break Tommen, not like this, when Tommen is perfectly capable of giving as good as he gets.

He pushes down at Tommen's hips so he can pull off without losing traction, flick the metal ball in his tongue across the tip of Tommen's cock and draw out the small yelp it always yields, but Tommen's hands are back in his hair, pulling more insistently now, and Rickon gets it, goes without being asked.

After months of muffled mouths and purposely slow and quiet encounters in alcoves at family functions, they've developed a short hand, and Rickon crawls back up Tommen's body at his silent request, gives him his mouth so Tommen can push up, kiss him frantically. He's close, Rickon can tell, thrumming with the need of it, but he circles Rickon and holds him firm in the palm of his hand, breaking the kiss to press his forehead up against Rickon's.

He doesn't need to say what he wants, Rickon can see it in the close blue of his eyes, but he says it anyway. "Together, Rickon, please," He murmurs, and when he kisses Rickon again it's still shuddering with need but slow, sweet.

It breaks as Rickon takes them both in hand, twin tremors rolling through them. Tommen makes a small noise in his ear, a small whimper, and reaches down to close his own hand around Rickon's. It's not like when Rickon's inside him, Tommen's body wrapped tight around his and every sensation heightened by that sense of Tommen's utter trust, allowing Rickon this, him. But right now, like this, their hands working in tandem, pulling each towards the edge, racing heartbeats and panting breaths synchronising, it's everything.

Gods Rickon barely feels like a person when he's with Tommen, or maybe the most human he's felt in years.

Tommen's murmuring his name in his ear like a hymnal, rising in the swell of the i and cracking on the k, and Rickon has to taste it, feel it across the sensitive flesh of his lips, eyes screwn up as they rock together, joined at every possible place. Rickon can feel his orgasm burning to the surface, like the sunrise that rose over the stands and lit up Tommen's fucking ridiculously blonde hair, and he whines, wordless, both of them chasing their climax together, the way they always make each other, because Tommen needs to be allowed to take it for himself, and Rickon's never known anything else, but together it gets better.

So much better.

He presses his face into the crook of Tommen's neck, doesn't realise he's speaking until he's taking gasping breaths to get the words out, " _You came, you came, you came_ ," kissing them into Tommen's skin, trying to bruise them there like he does his teeth marks, trying to keep this moment preserves in Tommen's body.

"Of course I did," Tommen's voice is just as quiet, as though they're fucking on the floors of a chapel rather than Rickon's changing room, but steadier in his ear until he continues, "Gods, Rickon, I love you," and his voice shatters.

Like glass spilt across the floor, so does Rickon. It's like he's cracking apart for the last time and handing every tiny part of himself to Tommen for inspection. All he can see is Tommen's face, and when Tommen follows him over, a heartbeat and a century after, lip bitten down, Rickon knows he was wrong. _Tommen_ is everything.

At least in this second, in this room, to Rickon.

He's shaking and all he wants to do is hold onto Tommen and never let go, so he does, the pair of them collapsing, boneless and shuddering, to the floor, the cool sting of the tile flush against them, and he kisses his way across Tommen's shoulder. A thank you he doesn't know how to give in words.

His hands trace Tommen's chest, find his hands and hold on like Tommen's keeping him attached to earth. He can feel Tommen's heartbeat, racing.

"Well," Tommen breaks the silence, which isn't unusual because Rickon doesn't know many words worth saying that actions can't say better, even if he wants to give all the ones worth saying to Tommen. "If this is the reception I'll be getting, I'll have to come back next week."

He says it casually, the slightest ghost of Cersei Lannister in his features, hiding thoughts and emotions behind a mask, and Rickon used to hate it, still does a little bit, before he figured out Tommen uses it when what he's saying is too important.

He smiles, secret into Tommen's collar, the way he vaguely remembers doing when he was a kid, and presses up to hang over him. His curls fall around him, like a curtain, and it's just the two of them in the world.

"You'd better."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the incredible poem We by Caitlyn Siehl which is pretty much my Tommen/Rickon poem of the moment.
> 
> This got way out of hand and I have a whole universe in my head for it now so if you ever want to ask about it hit me up on tumblr I can probably tell you anything.
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated and thank you for reading!


End file.
